


the way the beach is kissed by the sea

by ghostinthetoaster



Category: Aquaman (2018)
Genre: F/M, Family, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Regency, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-02 08:44:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17261135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostinthetoaster/pseuds/ghostinthetoaster
Summary: Occasionally, Arthur feels like a large, square peg trying to fit in a small, round hole.Most times.Whatever. All the time. At least the animals listen to him. And Mera.





	1. chapter one

Arthur remembers a summer vacation he took with his pops when he was a teenager, sort of a consolation for not being allowed to join the high school swim team. Tom had pinned a wrinkled map of Europe to the wall, blindfolded Arthur, spun him around, and handed him a dart from the dartboard hanging on the kitchen door. “Well, go on. Any country it lands in, we’ll visit.”

It wound up in the big toe of Italy, and for a week, the two of them had worn their feet out in Rome, walking the cobbled streets and touring the ancient ruins of the Roman Empire. At the time, Arthur had been impressed – as impressed as a scowling, sulking teenage boy deigned to be – with the crumbling monuments. “And they did it all while most the world’s human population were still living in huts,” his pops had remarked, pointing to the topmost arches of the Coliseum. “Not as impressive as Atlantis,” he had said, shrugging, “but the Atlanteans got a head start, which is cheating, so it doesn’t count.”

Secretly, Arthur had always thought the tales of Rome’s rulers and subjects, their conquests, deceptions and betrayals, as fascinating as Atlantis’ origins.

He had resolved to ask Vulko his opinion during their next training session.

Now, he sits on the high throne in the vast hall of the city he had thought about, dreamed about, resented, hated, and fought for and against. Soldiers in shining armor from every kingdom ten high and thirty abreast, in ranks stretching far into the echoing chamber. Tens of thousands of citizens gather above and below the central platform that connects either end, dressed in whatever ridiculous Atlantean garb they wear for formal ceremonies.

His coronation ceremony.

King of Atlantis.

Though he fights it, his eyes drift down again and again to the spot where he had been chained and awaiting judgment. The anchors have been removed, and Orm is locked and secure, but –

Well. At least most of the people here don’t want him dead this time. He hopes. Vulko and Atlanna have assured him of Atlantean’s respect for rule of law, but these are the same people who cheered for his death like, a week ago, so sue him if he feels a little uneasy.

“You too, Brutus?” he mumbles to himself.

He glances away, eyes bouncing around until they land on Vulko, who quietly observes him. The vizier smiles, and the churning in Arthur’s stomach settles a little. “Something on your mind, your majesty?”

Arthur’s mouth twists. “Just wish my pops could be here,” he sighs, absently thumbing his trident. “And none of that ‘your majesty’ crap, huh? Feels janky coming from you.”

Vulko hums, drifting closer. “I believe your father will be able to visit Atlantis very soon. Sooner than you think. The hearts and minds of Atlantis are not easily swayed,” Vulko sighs, looking out at the gathering masses, “but they would be fools to underestimate you. Or Atlanna.” His smile is full of pride when he looks at Arthur. “With your rule, I hope – I expect – many things will change. And,” he places a warm hand on Arthur’s shoulder, “I am looking forward to bearing witness.”

“Yeah, about that,” Arthur murmurs, wary of the strange way voices seem to carry underwater. “You’re sticking around, right? As advisor, or whatever?”

“If you wish.”

“I wish. Yep. Consider it a kingly decree.”

Vulko smiles. “As you say, your kingliness.”

Arthur’s barks a laugh, gaping. “That was a joke. You made a joke.”

“Merely obeying my king’s commands,” Vulko quips, bowing his head. Arthur grins.

“Your father will be so proud.” Arthur’s head whips around, and he barely has time to blink before he’s pulled from his seat and wrapped up in a bracing hug. Atlanna is swathed in a white and grey gown, which seems to ebb and flow with the slight circular current. She pulls back, resting her hands on his cheeks for a moment. “I am so proud. My son.” Her smile is as brilliant as the supernatural glow of his trident, and twice as beautiful.

Arthur feels a telltale sting build behind his eyes. “Thanks, ma. Couldn’t have done it without you,” he says gruffly, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, is there like, an Atlantean version of a camera? Dad would kill me if I didn’t take pictures.”

“Yes. And don’t worry, we’ll tell him all about it as soon as we can. We can even reenact it if you want. Use the old recliner in the living room and a Burger King crown.”

“Ha. It’d take more than an army for me to claim that old hunk of crap from him.”

They laugh, and it’s like a balm to his worries. Her eyes are drawn to something over his shoulder, and he looks, catching a splash of bright red swimming towards him out of the corner of his eye. His heart kicks in his chest, and he attempts to suck in a calming breath as inconspicuously as possible. Atlanna pats his shoulder with a conspiratorial grin, moving off.

“Whenever you laugh like that, something stupid usually happens right after. Didn’t want to miss it,” Mera says, her eyes bright. Arthur clamps down the grin tugging at his cheeks. She’s stunning, dress the color of the twilight sea and embedded with sparkling jewels shimmering like the night sky. Arthur floats up off the dais to meet her.

“You look…” Arthur murmurs, trailing off. “Um. Shiny.”

She scoffs, cheeks dusted pink, and reaches out to brush a hand along the orange-gold scaled armor covering his chest. “No cape?”

“Kept getting caught on stuff.” He wiggles the single-pointed end of his trident. “Besides, I got a buddy who wears one. Can’t have two dudes wearing capes in the same boyband.” He’s babbling, he knows, but Mera seems more charmed than confused. Hopefully. “Hey, how do you feel about doing some waterbending after the ceremony? Nothing big, just swirl a few of the guards around. You know the ones,” he says, cutting his eyes to the vanguard, standing at attention before the throne, who had held him chained to the floor a few days before.

Mera’s mouth drops open. “My aquakinesis is not a toy to be played with.”

“Oh, yeah. Dolphins and seahorses in the water fountain? Very serious business.”

“I was amusing a child.” She smirks at him. “I suppose it wouldn’t be too different.”

Arthur can’t restrain his grin any longer. “Is that any way to speak to a king, Princess?” he hums, emphasizing her title.

“Almost king,” she murmurs, fingertips skirting the edge of his beard. “And I will speak how I like.”

God, he can’t think straight when she’s looking at him like that, like she –

“Arthur?”

All at once, his world expands. Vulko appears at his side, smirking. Arthur looks down and sees that the space between he and Mera has shrunken to inches. Mera, whose hand is now pressed above his heart, clears her throat, smiling awkwardly and darting back a little. He feels the loss more keenly than he likes. She floats towards Vulko, wrapping him in a hug, which the vizier returns. “I’m glad to see you’re well, after everything.” she says quietly.

“And I you, Princess.”

She hugs Atlanna as well, exchanging whispered words he can’t make out. His mother touches Mera’s cheek and nods.

She turns toward Arthur, smiling. “I’ll be right down there,” she tilts her head towards the gathering of delegates directly below the dais. “Try not to screw up. I’m tired of rescuing you,” she tosses over her shoulder, swimming down to her place beside her father, who looks up at him with pursed lips. Arthur nods to him, like that’s at all what he’s supposed to do when he’s just been caught flirting with the man’s daughter. After a moment, Nereus returns the nod. Arthur turns away and blows out a breath.

Volko is still smirking. “Oh, whatever, old man.”

“The assembly is complete. We’re ready to begin.”

Arthur floats backwards toward the throne. As he takes his seat, a small current of water caresses his fingers and palm, like the clasp of a hand. He catches Mera’s eyes just as that ethereal blue glow begins to fade. The current whispers around his shoulders and flicks the edges of his hair before dissipating. She bites her lip.

His blood races hot and loud, and he shifts uncomfortably for a moment, lest his first action as king be mortifying himself and his family in front of the entire kingdom.

It’s laughable that people believe he’s the deadliest one in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that throne room looked like the inside of a really big jet engine


	2. chapter two

Arthur feels the tension in his shoulders release as the doors to his new digs appear.

The guards – none of them are from Orm’s former complement, Vulko had seen to that – sketch a bow and fan out to their positions as he drudges forward. The hallway is tall and rounded, lighted by the natural bioluminescence seemingly built in to all of Atlantis’ structures. They had reserved five entire floors for him in one of the residential towers near the government center, after he had declined the use of Orm’s ridiculous palace. It’s a lot for a guy who’s used to a nomadic lifestyle, but the fine treatment of royalty is a deeply ingrained habit in Atlantean culture, and hey, why look a gift horse in the mouth?

It’s empty aside from him and the guards, for which Arthur is thankful. He’s seen and talked to more people today than he has in the past three months combined, and damn it, he is tired. After hours of glad-handing and sweet-talking every goddamn politician in the seven seas, Vulko had announced the end of the king’s first court. “I’ll come get you tomorrow morning for your meeting with Nereus. Get some rest,” the vizier had said, patting Arthur’s shoulder “You did well today.”

His mother had hugged him one more time, squeezing hard enough for him to lose his breath, and they sent him off with a cadre of soldiers and fanfare fit for a king.

Which he is now.

Ugh. He hasn’t had time to find out what the underwater version of a bar is, or he’d be there.

The crown itches, and he’s two seconds away from whipping it off his head like a frisbee. Can’t he just wear the suit, carry the trident and be done with it? Everybody already knows who he is. Hell, half the population saw him lose to his brother in the ring of fire. Why bother with decorum and finery when everyone’s seen you get your ass punted around a coliseum?

Orm probably wore the stupid crown to bed and cuddled his trident like a teddy bear. The image brings a reluctant smile to Arthur’s face, and he adds it to the list of questions he’s absolutely going to ask the disgraced king when they finally talk.

If they talk.

The smile fades. God, what he wouldn’t give for a draft of Sam Adams. His kingdom for a keg.

The doors slide open – huh, look at that, sliding doors are a common trait on land and sea – and whisper shut behind him. Across from him, taking up an entire wall, is a floor to ceiling window, offering a panoramic view of the cityscape. Blue, green, and purple lights glitter as far as his eye can see, and a school of fish whooshes by, scales reflective and colorful.

A panel on the wall glows faintly, and he taps it. Holographic images resembling sliders and knobs appear. He tries thumbing the largest slider down, which dims the pale glow emanating from every surface in the room. A turn of one simulated knob sends a thrum of fresh water through vents in the walls. “All right, makes sense so far.” Floating around, he sees that the furniture doesn’t look too different from surface stuff, aside from the building materials. A large table with chairs here, long couches there, a wraparound counter and island kitchen with storage units that resemble cabinets.

Down the hallway is the bedroom, and Arthur’s worries begin to melt away at the sight of the enormous bed. He plops the crown down on one of the side tables and hooks his trident into what appears to be a storage case specifically designed for it.

He wonders if Vulko or his mother commissioned a remodel with his comfort in mind. From all he’s seen so far, Atlantean architecture only resembles surface architecture in engineering, not in style.

This line of thought is too complex for him right now. Food, and then bed. He swims back to the kitchen, eyes drawn to the large, spanning window once again. For all its strangeness, he’s never seen a place so uniquely beaut –

“Hi.”

The water around him vibrates with his startle. Huffing a breath, he whirls around to see Mera, leaning on the counter with a satisfied smirk on her face. “You – don’t do that,” he grumbles, heart leaping at the sight of her.

He looks to the doors, which still appear intact. “How’d you get in here?” His mouth drops open slightly. “Wait, you didn’t knock out the guards, did you?” he swirls his fingers around in an approximation of her power. “Because I was just kidding about –”

“No, I didn’t. Diplomatic clearance, remember?” She floats over the island towards him. No longer formal wear, she’s back in one of those bomb-ass jumpsuits she seems to like so much, this one the same twilight color as her dress. She’s holding something in her hand, and his eyes dart back and forth between it and her face.

“Bullshit.” Her smirk transforms into a full-blown smile, and it dawns on him. “You were here the whole time.”

“The king has had a long day. He can be forgiven a little inattention,” she condescends, tone doing things to him it absolutely shouldn’t.

“Oh, whatever. You try saying the same shit to a million people for hours and see how alert you are.”

“Please,” she says, rolling her eyes and pointing to her tiara. “I mastered the art of talking up politicians before I learned to pilot a water speeder.”

“I could have used your help, you know. Might have gone faster.” And wow, doesn’t that sound pathetic now that he’s said it. So what if she left right after the coronation? He can’t go an afternoon without being around her, now?

“I know better than that. It’ll take more than those pretty eyes of yours to snare me into talking with Y’Arza X’Millar B’Illot about tax theory. Did he tell you about his favorite kind of salmon?” she asks, fluttering her eyes.

“And step by step instructions on how to prepare it,” he groans, pinching his nose. She giggles, and he can’t even pretend to be annoyed anymore. “So where were you, anyway?”

“Just finishing a project,” she says proudly, displaying her closed fist. The current swirls gently as she brushes by him, and he feels the warmth of her at his back. “Close your eyes.” Her fingers tickle his neck, and goosebumps run down his spine and arms. He feels her tie something like a piece of leather or twine. “Okay.”

Glancing down, he sees his Toki pendant. It gleams like it did when he first received it as a teenager, as if it’s been painstakingly polished. “Whoa!” he huffs a disbelieving laugh. “God, I didn’t even realize I’d –” he trails off, pinching it gently. “Thank you.”

“You must have dropped it in the sand when you went to get Atlan’s trident. I’d meant to give it to you before the coronation, but you were so busy, there was never a good time.” Mera drifts forward and reaches out, brushing her finger across the pendant. “What does it mean?”

“It’s a Toki Pounamu. It’s a symbol of authority and good omen among my father’s people. He got it from his father, who got it from his father, blah, blah, blah.” Arthur smiles. “Meant a lot when he gave it to me. He’d kill me if I lost it, so. Thanks for saving my life. Again.”

“You always carry a piece of home with you, no matter how far you go,” she says, gently.

Arthur clears his throat, cheeks heating. “That’s one way to look at it.”

“My mother gave me this tiara when I was a child,” she says, touching the golden diadem resting in her hair. “It’s a little small for me now, but it keeps her in my mind. Keeps her memory fresh.”

Arthur takes her hand, squeezing gently. “I know how it feels.”

She meets his eyes, her smile soft. “I made peace with her death a long time ago. It’s just a harsh reality all royal offspring face sooner or later. And now we have Atlanna back.” She huffs a laugh. “She’s back. I’ve never been so happy.”

Arthur remembers his cutting words after Steppenwolf’s attack. As usual, he hadn’t been able to deal with the anger and hurt inside him and had taken it out on her. “Listen, I’m sorry about how I treated you before. When we first met, I mean.”

Mera’s expression is open and affectionate. “It’s okay.” She strokes his cheek. “Besides, I had you figured out from the start.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“You took one hell of a hit. You all right?” she mimics his words and tone, frowning intensely, and smiles when he rolls his eyes. “Admit it. You liked me. Even then.” He scoffs. “It’s all right, I’m very likeable.” Her tone is matter of fact, like she has no doubt about his feelings.

It’s –

Comforting.

He wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her to him even as he looks away, feigning aloofness. “Yeah, I guess I could get used to you.”

He feels Mera climb his body, pressing her lips to his jaw. “Such a hardship.” She kisses him again, on the apple of his cheek. “You’re stuck with me now, you realize.” Her fingers thread through the fine hairs at the back of his neck, and she nips at his earlobe. “You’ll just have to find some – way – to – tolerate me,” she whispers in between wandering kisses, landing a half breath away from his lips.

He growls, lifting the hand not wrapped around her waist to cup the back of her neck, and closes the distance. She surges into him, mouth hot and intoxicating.

By the time they part, he’s breathless – apparently that can happen in water – and she looks as dazed as he feels.

“Do you have anywhere to be tonight?” he rumbles, drawn in like a sailor to a mermaid.

“Yes, I do.” His heart drops, and he prepares to let her go with as much grace as he’s capable of. He can’t exactly hide what she’s doing to him right now, but he doesn’t particularly want to anymore. She should know. Judging by the look on her face, she does know.

His hands drift away, but she wraps her legs around his waist and links her fingers behind his head. “Right here. With you.”

His jaw drops. “You –” he hauls her up against him, until there isn’t a part of them that isn’t touching the other. “You’re going to get it for that.”

Her smile is pure invitation. “I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full confession: I don't know much about Maori culture beyond what I've been able to Google. If I've made any mistakes, please let me know! I'd love to get it right.
> 
> When will Arthur find a bar? WILL he find a bar? Stay tuned to find out...


	3. chapter three

Arthur wakes to the soft ambient hum of Atlantis.

The city, like Metropolis, never seems to sleep. Sea creatures pass by his bedroom window with muted whooshes. Atlantean vehicles emit a spectrum of whines and rumbles, hums and clicks. Most of them seem to be designed to mimic various sea creatures, and it’s hilarious to him, in a surreal, comic-booky kind of way. They’re cooler than almost any car on the surface, that’s for sure. He’s always been a motorcycle nut, but he can admire superior engineering when he sees –

Wow, his thoughts are a little wandering this morning. But, it’s the first night since he fought Orm that his rest hasn’t been plagued with nightmares. He feels pretty damn good, actually.

A soft snore and a warm presence remind him why.

Sleeping underwater is a lot like sleeping in space, apparently, so the beds have been made to tuck the sleeper in tightly, and right now, Arthur is a huge fan. Neither him nor Mera had bothered to redress after, so he’s waking up to cool water brushing his skin and a Mera-sized heater blanketed on top of him. Her legs are tangled with his, her arms are tucked under his shoulder blades, and her forehead presses lightly against his jaw.

And is vision is obscured by a mane of fiery red hair.

Somebody didn’t remember to pull it back before falling asleep. Or was too worn out to bother.

He smirks.

“Stop smirking.”

He rumbles in pleasure. “Get your hair out of my face. It itches.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Mera mumbles, sleepy and content. She slides up his torso, skin smooth and amazing on his, pushing up on her elbows until they’re face to face. “Atlantean skin doesn’t itch underwater.”

“I’m only half-Atlantean, remember?” He brushes her wild tendrils out of the way and begins to braid them behind her head. He’s done this so many times for himself, the muscle memory alone is enough. “My skin can be tough and itchy, thank you very much. Don’t put me in a box.”

“What are you doing?” she asks, lifting a hand. He knocks it gently away, and she clicks her tongue in annoyance.

“Oh, relax. I know how to take care of long hair.”

“Hm,” she squints at him in mock suspicion. He leans up to kiss the twist off her lips and is satisfied to see a dimpling smile when he pulls back. He threads thick strands through his fingers and separates them, and Mera shudders, one leg giving a little kick before her body relaxes deliciously against his. “Be careful,” she purrs. “If you do this well enough, I might just claim the throne for myself and keep you as my personal chambermaid.”

“Threats are supposed to be scary, Princess. I’ll have you know I look great in a skirt.”

She giggles and nibbles on his neck. It’s distracting, and he accelerates his pace, winding the last few strands together and secures the end in a secure knot. “There. Acceptable?”

She strokes a hand over the twist and nods. “Sit up.” He does, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her in his lap. The heavy blanket, made of some kind of smooth plant fiber and woven into a heavy fabric, untucks and falls away, and Arthur’s eyes drift down. Mera chucks under his chin playfully, shooting him a mockingly stern look. He squeezes her rear in response, and she grinds down once, sighing. “Hey. Stop distracting me, unless you want a crooked braid.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She repays his efforts, reaching around him and meeting his gaze while she tucks and weaves his hair. “So, today is pretty much scheduled down to the second,” he sighs, closing his eyes in pleasure as Mera’s fingers scratch at his scalp and neck.

“Feeling a little chafed?”

“I’m just used to doing things on my own. Kind of preferred it that way.” She leans back to quirk a brow at him. “Uh, until recently, I mean.”

“Mmhmm.”

He shrugs. “Talking to people has never been my favorite thing. Yesterday didn’t really change my mind.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad.”

“Says the woman who ‘mastered the art of talking up politicians before she learned to pilot a water speeder’,” he says, eyebrow cocked.

“Politics is ninety percent hot water. Practice makes perfect, and you’ll get a lot of it from now on. What really matters is action, and you can’t sell yourself short in that area. You’ve done incredible things.” She gives his hair a tug, patting the braid in satisfaction.

“That was easy stuff. Fighting and swimming around.” Mera places a hand on his cheek, and he leans his head on it, looking up at her. “I can punch guys all day long, but one afternoon of bullshitting with elites,” he sighs, trailing off, his mouth twisting.

“Yes, yes. You’re a blunt weapon and good at it. Anger and all that, you told me.” She cups his face. “And I’m telling you again, you’re wrong.” Leaning in, Mera places a delicate kiss on his lips.

“Uh-huh. You also said I do my best thinking when I’m not thinking at all.”

“And I stand by that. When you think too much, you doubt yourself. It’s when you act without second-guessing that your true nature shows. Your courage and compassion. Your selflessness.” She pecks him once, twice, three times. “That’s the man who drew me in. He’s who I want to know. Show him to everyone. Every day. Your kingdom will be a better place for it.”

Affection swells in his chest, and he can’t wipe the stupid lovesick grin off his face to save his life. “You got a way with words, Princess.”

She smiles softly at him. “You convinced a giant sea monster to let you pass and gain the trident. If that isn’t a way with words’ as you say, I don’t know what is.”

“Ah, she was just a little hungry. She’s a gem once you get to know her.”

“Says the only man in the seven seas who can talk to fish.”

Arthur laughs. “All right, all right, point taken.” He hugs her against him, tucking his chin over her shoulder.

An electronic chime echoes from the door down the hall. He groans, dropping his head back. Mera plants one more peck on his lips. “Come on, big guy. Duty calls.” She rises gracefully out of bed, unabashedly naked, and floats to the place where she had shucked her bodysuit. Arthur stares openly, and she gives him a little extra wiggle and a grin as she zips in.

While she finishes, he swims over to his expansive closet. He hadn’t bothered to put away his clothes either, but the massive walk in – or swim in, he supposes – is stocked with custom fitted outfits and armor.

Arthur doesn’t consider himself a vain guy, but he’s not a slob. He’s used to ratty, well-worn surface clothing, used to project a carefully crafted careless, rugged image. It’s helpful when he needs to be overlooked, and it works most of the time, even these days. Thanks to clean-cut, windswept icons like Clark and Diana, nobody expects a superhero to look like a biker.

That won’t fly for a head of state, though. He’ll need to take a few days to overhaul his tactics, soon. Stealth isn’t exactly an option anymore.

He settles on a dark green suit with gold trimmings. Wearing Xebel’s colors to the first meeting with its king can’t hurt, he figures. The crown sits off-center on a shelf of its own, haphazardly placed there before things ramped up last night, and Arthur sighs as he fits it to his head, already weary of wearing it.

As he straightens the collar, he tucks his necklace under the fabric, patting it with a smile. He grabs the trident and floats out of the closet. He’s met with an approving smile. “Not bad, huh?” He flexes his biceps, striking a ridiculous pose to make her laugh.

She seems content, however, to simply admire him, chewing on her lower lip. “You’re very handsome in orange, but I think I like these colors on you even more,” Mera hums. “Speaking of, whatever happened to that suit I gave you after Steppenwolf attacked?”

“Got a lot of parademon guts on it. Why, you want it back?”

She grimaces. “You can keep it.”

He doesn’t mention that he sold it to Bruce for a boatload of cash. Which, sure, he needed at the time, but the fact that a very smart surface dweller has his hands on Xebel technology because of him is, well.

Hopefully that’s a bridge they won’t have to cross anytime soon.

Mera nods her head towards the kitchen. “Sounds like Vulko brought the morning meal.”

All at once, his hunger hits him, and he remembers he hasn’t eaten since midday yesterday. “Holy shit, I’m starving.”

He whooshes by Mera, who laughs in his wake, through the hallway and into the living area to find his mentor, overseeing two attendants laying out platters full of –

Fish. Platters full of fish. Of course.

Obviously, Atlanteans are pescatarians, who also like a healthy side of green stuff. They don’t have access to grains, or sugars, or any plant material that grows on land, and they don’t manufacture artificial proteins. They stick to an all-natural, sea-provided diet, and considering the stark health differences between the average human and the average Atlantean, it’s obvious which food policy is superior.

Arthur does not care. He is tired of fish and seaweed. He wants a giant, greasy burger and greasier fries. And a beer. Three beers. Health be damned, his human side is craving real food and his Atlantean side can take the punishment. He thinks he deserves it after the last few weeks.

“Not to your satisfaction, Arthur?” Vulko, damn him, is playing at innocence, like the man doesn’t know Arthur lived, ate, and drank on the surface for thirty-three years.

Bitching about food wouldn’t be very kingly of him, though, so he stretches what he hopes is a believable smile across his face. “No, looks great. Love fish.” Vulko dismisses the attendants as Arthur grabs a fork, stabbing a slice of tuna straight off the tray. “Can’t wait to have it every day for the rest of my life.”

Mera swims over and grabs a plate, delicately serving herself some greens. “Thank you, Vulko. This looks delicious,” she says with all the grace Arthur hadn’t managed.

The older man says nothing about the fact that Mera is wearing clothes from the day before and just swam out of Arthur’s bedroom. Arthur’s not sure if he’s relieved about that or not. “Come, sit with me, the both of you.” Vulko offers instead, gesturing to the large table as Arthur half-heartedly piles a few more tuna slices on a plate. “We have much to discuss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've given you all a lot of fluff so far, but strap in folks, because the political drama is about to begin


End file.
